


what we came here for

by finkpishnets



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, Grocery Shopping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: It’s fun and easy and domestic, and Paul has to turn towards the stove and take a long pull of his beer to stop himself freaking out.





	what we came here for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pippitypopadoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippitypopadoo/gifts).



> for @pippitypopadoo who wanted ‘grocery shopping, dinner, beer, _and_...’
> 
> apparently i'm just forever going to write the fluffiest domestic fic for these two, but, hey, at least this one doesn't involve bed sharing?

 

 

**~**

 

 

“Stop looking at it like it’s poisonous,” Paul says, rolling his eyes. Will huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, watching Paul’s hands suspiciously.

“I think I’m allergic,” he says, and Paul tries not to find the furrow of his brow cute.

“You’re not allergic,” Paul says. “I saw you eat the lettuce in your burger literally yesterday.”

Will pouts and begrudgingly takes the fresh romaine, adding it to his basket. “Why do they always put salad in burgers, anyway? Like, who orders a _burger_ and thinks, ‘you know, I just can’t wait for all that healthy stuff’? It might be a conspiracy. You should look into that.”

Paul shakes his head and refuses to laugh. They’d run into each other in the produce aisle, Will’s basket full of microwavable ready meals and beer, Paul blinking at the contents in horror until Will had sheepishly put everything besides the six pack of Corona back and let Paul drag him through the shop in an attempt at introducing nutrition to his diet.

And now they’re arguing over lettuce.

Paul’s not sure exactly _when_ his life took such a weird turn, but at least it’s not boring.

“I don’t even know what to do with this stuff,” Will says, grabbing a bag of tomatoes. “Unless you want me to make burgers?”

He smiles hopefully, and Paul bites the inside of his cheek, ducking his head in the hopes he won’t look as fond as he feels. Will hums happily, and Paul knows he’s failed, so he shakes his head and grabs an avocado.

“You don’t even have to _cook_ most of this, Will. It’s not that hard.”

“Okay,” Will says, and Paul feels him take a step closer. “So prove it.”

There’s a glint in Will’s eyes, a smirk at the corner of his lips, and Paul _knows_ this isn’t about food, but it’s a challenge all the same.

“All right,” he says, and feels the weight of Will’s victory, “but you might wanna buy more beer.”

 

 

**~**

 

 

Paul sticks to a stir-fry, quick and easy, a remnant of his on-the-road past and his hardworking bachelor present. He _could_ show off — raid his spice rack and his Grandmother’s recipe book — but it’s been a long week and this isn’t about impressing Will so much as refusing to back away from spending time with him.

He helps Will put his groceries away, going to grab a wok from his own apartment when he realizes Will’s living with little more than student basics, and Will presses a drink into his hand as he cooks, chopping the spring onions when Paul asks.

It’s fun and easy and domestic, and Paul has to turn towards the stove and take a long pull of his beer to stop himself freaking out.

Will moves the stuff from his desk, pulling it further into the room so one of them can sit on the bed, and setting it as best he can with mismatched plates and chipped mugs left by the previous tenant. Paul’s man enough to admit he pays a little more attention than usual to plating, but Will just smiles and fills a jug with water, grabbing two more beers as he passes. 

“Okay,” Will says, legs curled under him on the bed, sitting taller than Paul in the desk chair, “I’ll admit, this is actually really good for a hot salad.”

“A hot—” Paul starts, shaking his head. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“You’ve told me once or twice,” Will says, grinning happily. “No, but really, this is great. You know I’m gonna make you cook for me all the time now, right?”

Paul snorts, and doesn’t say “ _any time_ ” because he’s pretty sure it would just inspire Will to show up at his door at six in the morning demanding breakfast.

And because he’d maybe, kinda, be okay with that.

“At least I know you’re not going to die from scurvy now,” he says instead. “My conscience is clean.”

“Such a good citizen,” Will laughs. “Solving mysteries, stopping murderers, and making sure the local community eat their greens.” 

“What can I say,” Paul say, ducking his head on a smile, “I take my civic duty seriously.”

Will hums, and when Paul looks up he’s watching him with the affection and mischief that makes Paul’s blood sing.

That makes him want to throw caution to the wind.

“Or,” Will says, not looking away, “maybe it’s just because you like me.”

“Well,” Paul says, and cherishes the surprise in Will’s eyes, “that too.”

Will’s smile lights up the room.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Clearing up takes twice as long as it should.

They keep drifting into each other’s orbit, fingers brushing and shoulders bumping; small, private smiles and the huff of happy, self-deprecating laughter. It’s sweet and flirtatious and ridiculous, and when Will picks up two more beers, raising an eyebrow questioningly, Paul nods and doesn’t let himself overthink it.

They hesitate in the doorway, the desk back against the wall and the bed suddenly looming, and Will shoots him a look beneath his lashes and seems to take the initiative, sinking to the floor so his back’s against the foot of the bed, and Paul’s shoulders relax as he joins him.

He’s not sure what Will thinks, if he puts it down to Paul’s recently broken heart or his nice guy status or if he thinks it’s about _him_.

It’s none of those things, but Paul doesn’t know how to tell him he doesn’t trust _himself_. 

Doesn’t trust how much he wants.

(How much he’s always wanted.)

“Hi,” he says, sliding closer until their arms are pressed together, and he can feel Will’s breath against his cheek when he turns his head.

“Hey,” Will says, voice low and intimate. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” Paul says, mirroring him. They’re so close now, close enough for Paul to see the hopeful question in Will’s eyes. 

If he doesn’t move soon, Will’s going to take the initiative again _(again)_ and Paul won’t begrudge him it, but—

But maybe, _maybe_ , it’s his turn to remember how to be brave in this.

He curls the palm of his hand against Will’s jaw, his thumb pressing gently against the corner of Will’s mouth; Will takes a shaky breath, gaze fixed on Paul’s lips, and Paul smiles as he leans forward, kissing him softly.

He can feel the cold condensation from his beer seeping through the knee of his jeans, the jut of Will’s elbow against his side, and it’s awkward and uncomfortable and far from perfect.

Paul never wants it to stop.

“Hey,” Will says, leaning back just enough for the words to come out breathless between them. “I like you, too. In case I was being, you know, too subtle about it.”

He chokes on the last few words, chest shaking, and Paul loses it, pressing his forehead into Will’s shoulder, Will’s fingers threading through his hair and tugging him back until he can kiss the laughter from Paul’s lips. 

“You know,” Paul says, letting the free, pure happiness sink beneath his skin, “it might have occurred to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Will says, pressing kisses to Paul’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Paul says, leaning into it, vaguely aware that Will’s carpet is probably covered in beer by now and not caring in the slightest. “By the way, you’re cooking next time.”

Will’s eyes flick up, searching, and Paul sits still and hopes he sees everything he needs to.

“Deal,” he says, eventually, tugging Paul back in and stopping before their lips touch. “I still hate lettuce.”

“Will?” Paul says, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Will’s cheekbones and feeling light as air.

“Yeah?”

Paul brushes a kiss against the swell of his bottom lip. “Shut up.”

When Will laughs, it feels like winning.

 


End file.
